


Golden Hands

by WahlBuilder



Series: 30 days of rarepairs [3]
Category: Deus Ex (Video Games)
Genre: Finger Sucking, Light Angst, M/M, Post-Break Up, Pre-Game(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-05
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-12-24 05:50:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12006393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WahlBuilder/pseuds/WahlBuilder
Summary: Darrow notices Sarif's new hand.





	Golden Hands

He had seen it before—the first time while watching a report on talks between TYM, Sarif, and Humanity Front, he recalled. ( _I must know everything that’s going on with the mess I’ve started_ , he had told himself, he would tell himself every time. _Only because of that._ ) William Taggart’s perfectly tailored calm, Zhao Yun Ru with thin-lipped smiles and steel in her eyes—and David. In a patterned dull gold vest, the shirt sleeves rolled up, his hair sleeked back but ruffled at the edges… Wide gestures, words like swords, a burning so bright it spills out of him in mighty waves.

( _God, David._ )

And that hand. Darrow had been watching the debate so intently he hadn’t noticed it at first. It was a part of David so his mind hadn’t registered it as something… different.

And when he _had_ noticed, it had captured his attention entirely. Sleek and gleaming and with a barely discernible pattern, either engraved or etched. A proof that David is not only a visionary and a corporate mastermind—( _A fool. A bugging fool._ )—but also an artist. ( _I’ve seen this design before. Years ago._ )

That hand had produced gestures to match its fleshy counterpart. It had looked as if David had only put on a glove—so natural it had seemed.

That had been months ago.

And now, Hugh couldn’t tear his eyes off it again, his mind filled with vague fantasies. What would it feel like? Smooth? Cool like water? Could the slight shifting of its inner workings be sensed on the surface?..

They weren’t separated by many screens, cameras, cables, satellites anymore. Oh no. David Sarif was in the same room as him, in the flesh. A patterned black vest with a white shirt, with sleeves down and proper this time, his hair immaculate, though with more grey than Hugh remembered. His aquiline profile illuminated by harsh light.

Just reach out and touch.

Hugh glanced down at the glass in his hands. Its golden surface showed a shadow of him. Perhaps he had had too much to drink.

( _I don’t miss him._ )

David’s voice drifted to him, raspy, with his ridiculous drawl. ( _It’s obnoxious. I don’t like it. At all._ ).

Hugh left the glass on the nearest table and walked out the ballroom. The hallway was dark, pressing on Hugh from the sides, but it was quiet. A soft, choking velvet silence. He found the nearest door and pushed. It wasn’t locked.

The room behind it turned out to be a private study of sorts: three walls lined with bookcases, and the unmistakable scent of old paper and bind glue permeating the air. Hugh fell into the single armchair, rubbing his knee. It was throbbing with pain, and alcohol would only make it worse in the morning.

He startled at a short rap and realised it had started to rain. Hugh leaned back and closed his eyes, listening to the drumming of raindrops on the only window.

The door creaked, and Hugh sat upright. Ready to make an excuse.

‘You look like shit, Darrow.’

He groaned and sank back into the armchair. ‘Thank you, _Mr. Sarif_.’

He didn’t need this… encounter. But David couldn’t read his thoughts, so he walked in, rolled up his sleeves.

And crouched.

Hugh looked down at him. Hoping his glare would banish David—or at least, make him explain. ‘What…’

‘Where’s your cane?’

David was looking up at him, his brows knitted. Hugh couldn’t see his eyes in the darkness, and wished he turned the lights on.

‘I don’t need it,’ he said quietly.

‘ _Bullshit_.’

It was said with such feeling, and despite the darkness Hugh could perfectly see the angry lines on David’s face. ( _You know his anger so well._ )

‘You had champaigne, meaning you haven’t taken your painkillers tonight— _meaning_ ,’ David was talking fast, ‘your knee is killing you, but because you’re a stubborn bastard, you decided to go without your cane, and tomorrow you are going to regret it.’

Hugh didn’t have the energy to plaster a smile to his face. He couldn’t, not with how easily David cut him open.

God, David.

Neither of them liked being exposed like this, so this could lead to the only conclusion. They would fight again.

As Hugh turned all possible things he could tell to stop the inevitable, David touched his right knee. With his augmented hand.

Hugh sucked in a breath, and it was too loud in the small room.

David stilled and looked up. ‘What?’ All defensive.

Idiots, both of them.

‘Your hand,’ Hugh said quietly. He didn’t want to push, but it felt… ordinary on his knee. Neither more nor less heavy than David’s hands used to feel like—on his knees, his thighs, his shoulders, his back…

‘Oh.’ David yanked it back, turning it this way and that. As though it weren’t a part of him. ‘Sorry.’

Hugh didn’t understand what he was apologising for. He reached down and took it in his hands like he had been thinking of doing the whole evening.

The whole several months since he had seen it the first time.

It felt… strange. Cool but not icy cold. On the outside, smooth with only the the dips of the engraving. On the inside, though, the heel of the palm, the pads of the fingers were ridged, more so than any… ‘fleshy’ hand. Like…

‘A cat’s tongue,’ Hugh murmured and startled at the sound of his own voice. He glanced quickly at David.

David was watching him, the frown gone.

Hugh smiled—and David’s cheeks darkened and he looked away. It made all sorts of strange things to shift in Hugh’s chest. The fact that his smile could affect David. Despite everything.

‘How sensitive is it?’ he asked casually and started rubbing gentle circles into the yielding mesh. It was quickly warming up.

‘Sensitive enough. Heat, pressure, texture, all that. And why do you—’

Hugh lifted it to his mouth and drew the forefinger into his mouth. Not breaking eye contact with David.

 _Now I know one more way to shut him up_ , Hugh thought.

Suddenly, there was a way that this evening could end without a fight.


End file.
